


...Ya Owe Us

by Ragnaroq



Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-09-23 17:50:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20344228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ragnaroq/pseuds/Ragnaroq
Summary: Harry Hook was a child of the Isle who knew that nothing was certain, to want anything better than abject misery for others was an unconquerable hill. For all his bravado and devil may care attitude, cloying doubt crept in on the heels of fear. Fear that Jay, indomitable by day and unresting in pursuit of the demands of Jafar, had not been snared in the trap of emotions that Harry was.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DarkerThanDisney (Kairyn)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairyn/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Phenomenal, Cosmic Power](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215296) by [DarkerThanDisney (Kairyn)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kairyn/pseuds/DarkerThanDisney). 

> I needed some sort of outlet after reading the Son of Jafar series because my atoms are essentially vibrating like a shivering chihuahua at the visceral emotions. I'm fucked up about it. Thank you, Kairyn, for allowing me some catharsis.
> 
> I use some pretty harsh imagery centered around past underage sexual abuse and current underage prostitution so please do not read this chapter if you are sensitive to that.

The Isle did not cultivate soft sentiment easily, concepts of friends and family were foreign or nonexistent entirely. Every child born to the hellhole became forged of steel in their reality, learning from example that cruelty and violence were the only true ways to beget power and influence. With the Lost, it was an endless fight to be the one on top, the Ruler over the domain. To be most powerful was to be safe though even that was fleeting. Gangs became one’s lifeblood, an affiliation they could choose in a world of choices that had been made for them by their parents’ actions. These people were the ones you broke bread with, drank with, fought tooth and nail to protect, all the while trusting that they would do the same without hesitation. You served alongside them, strong alone but stronger together, not letting the chinks in armor be seen. Loyalty was the new family and power the new happiness. This was the Isle way and to feel otherwise just painted a larger target on your back.

In the spirit of avoiding exposure to exploitable weaknesses, Harry had tamped down the desire to see the Son of Jafar more than what would appear casual. Even with that measure of self discipline, the wild eyed teen could not help the thoughts that filtered through his mind, spurred further onward with the buzz of alcohol that warmed his limbs and had him slumping pliant and amused next to the chair his Captain had chosen as her throne for the evening. Others in their crew milled about in the dim light of evening lamps, gambling and fighting and getting their pleasures however they pleased. He was resolutely in uncharted territory, a lost First Mate unsure of the direction to take but fairly certain he had no agency in preventing it. Like a daisy sprouting from concrete, some crack had let a seed take root, fed by attraction and gratitude, now encroaching on his mind both waking and asleep. 

In the recesses of his mind, Harry drank in soft caramel skin and it burned hotter than the liquor on his tongue. A lithe frame claimed pleasure astride his hips, surging under his hands, long hair whispering against his skin where it brushed with each roll. The muscles flexed and relaxed in glorious symphony, almost as sweet a sound as the moaned name on kiss reddened lips. Jay was scarred, flawed, bruised like they all were and yet so resplendently gorgeous that it hurt Harry's chest to fixate on all of him at once lest he be blinded by radiance.

Transcending physical beauty, there were the parts that the pirate was not eloquent enough to put words to and perhaps not brave enough to define. To know that he could craft some measure of good while taking his own pleasure, that sex could be something beyond the claim of power and guttural release. It started as a reward, a thanks for the first of few quiet nights from a child seeing kinship in shared experience. Jay had strength, an acceptance and agency that Harry had never had, baiting the lecherous for his own gain despite the cost. He was an unapologetic thief instead of robbed victim, the sharpness of tempered steel evident to the Son of Hook immediately. In later moments he would know how much it cost the Arabian but in those first fledgling kisses it had been about healing his own invisible wounds, learning from the Son of Jafar how to survive what could not be prevented despite all the fight he had in him.

As the assaults lessened in teen years and all that remained was the taste of Jay's mouth, playfulness took over. They were in rival gangs despite Harry's best efforts, though it worked as well as it could for the pirate sought Jay out in a brawl, wanting to challenge and see that fire in his eye. The Arabian was a fierce fighter and as deft at the sword as he was slight of hand, when exuberant energy took over there were glimpses of joy and determination on his face. Harry basked in that energy like a plant to sunlight, his own features stretching into an overzealous smile with every sword clash and taunt.. In their private moments on some moldy couch with a bottle of Wicked Whiskey between them, he wanted covetous touch to erase the ghost of violent, perverse hands, to wipe away memories that they shared. Anything to stop the dark sadness from settling back in to Jay. Though like the fall of the sun on the horizon every day, it was inevitable. Still, Harry would fight to slow its progress, inelegantly forceful with intent to repair the splintering cracks of a wounded soul with gold.

It was perhaps the only good he might do in a world beset by villainy. 

Despite this ember of goodness glowing amongst the ashes of a rotten core, Harry was a child of the Isle who knew that nothing was certain, to want anything better than abject misery for others was an unconquerable hill. For all his bravado and devil may care attitude, cloying doubt crept in on the heels of fear. Fear that Jay, indomitable by day and unresting in pursuit of the demands of Jafar, had not been snared in the trap of emotions that Harry was.

It was not a hard conclusion to make, despite fleeting moments, lingering kisses and pleasure coaxed from shivering flesh, the pirate was not disillusioned by himself. He was chaotic and blood thirsty, a diligent and stubborn man though lacking clear vision to be a leader. He played up the madness as a defense mechanism, one developed in childhood to ward away those same predators who knew he would bite and claw and howl like an animal. At some point though it became his personality, freeing him to act on whatever thing that filled his head without bothersome questions of why. He pushed boundaries, antagonized and unnerved the most stoic of adversaries, brought to heel by Uma's coiled tight control alone and otherwise ruled by a tumultuous cocktail of emotions like a rabid dog. He had a master and that worked for him, meant he was unbothered by schemes or plans. Just told what direction to pit all his anger towards, where to let loose the maelstrom of energy that needed to be expended and grin in triumph when he proved himself the biggest bully in the sandbox. It would be baffling to any to think someone could cherish such a berserker. With Fairy Tales more history than fiction, Harry Hook was no Prince Charming. 

In truth, the Son of Hook was a touch-starved animal in search of validation that this secret thing he and Jay shared meant something beyond gang affiliations, that when they were inevitably found out it might survive the wrath of their respective leaders. He labored for security when he knew perfectly well it could not be given. In lieu of claiming Jay as his, the pirate sought to fill the Arabian with thoughts of him with every interaction, wanted dark eyes boring into him at all times for any indication that the fixation was mutual, to prove time after time that it could be something. The tattoo had been his most obvious tactic, exhilarated to know that a disguised H marked Jay with a permanence that every worshipful kiss could not. Meanwhile he rejoiced at bearing a mark of Jay, a gesture that screamed what he could not yet say.

His own tattoo seemed to burn against his shoulder as he thought on it, the sensation mirrored in his groin as it oft did when left to his own devices in the quieter hours. Jerking to stand, he stalked away to the gangplank to stare into the dark waves that lapped against the craggy shore. The bracing sea air sobered him some, idly enjoying how the moonlight caught on the hook held in a lax hand. Eventually Uma came looking for him, stomping a commanding foot on the rickety wood and making it flex and bob under his solid weight. They both laughed at his initial jolt to steady himself, wide toothy grins full of good humor and trust. With swaggering hips he returned to the safety of the gently rocking deck, nary a fear at being cast overboard as he'd had sea legs from birth.

Uma perched on the thick railing of the ship and filled the scene with charismatic chatter, a hand tossing seafoam colored braids from her shoulder as she regaled him with her latest sexual escapades. He leaned companionably next to her, content in the easy intimacy alloted to those he trusted, trading sips from a steadily emptying bottle with her. While Hook did not crave to lose himself between her thighs, she had occasionally been featured in his more debauched dreams, the merging of his two worlds into one hedonistic experience. Somewhere, a therapist could have broken that down into the internal conflict Harry weathered whilst split between two factions, but it would be a cold day in hell before any on the Isle aired their internal strifes with an Auradon. Sex in general was a fun topic to discuss and Harry, lascivious and antagonistically flirtatious as ever, demanded all of the details in vivid description and listened with rapt attention. Uma obliged her closest companion, the siren song effective at drawing the First Mate further into the tale. 

How could the Pirate anticipate that his Captain had found that weakness in him that he worked so hard to contain, the silent target that made him susceptible to temptation and treachery? He was a sitting duck, already vulnerable in her hands which sought to break him open and build him anew, devoid of this cumbersome affection he held for the enemy. With unwavering loyalty he fell into the trap the Sea Witch laid, her words as potent as her mother's in twisting souls into frenzied, desperate creatures. 

She described the griping of the whore with mockery, how pitiful a predicament to be stuck with men when the weight of their heavy bodies disgusted him to no end, how he felt reprieve when a woman threw coin his way for a tumble. That he had to play in to whatever fantasy got them off. How he got sick after a trick but kept it up because there was no shortage of vile perverts begging for it and that they paid good money to get their dick wet. Harry laughed alongside, feeling the attitude and affectation with which she spoke more than her words, offering sarcastic comments of sympathy and egging Uma on to tell him who it had been. To name names in case he could throw a delicious barb at them next time they crossed paths, cruel words so easy when it was not someone you knew.

It only took a second for Uma to share the identity, to deal the final blow. He had signed the contract for his soul to her long ago yet now she found her First Mate a ticking time bomb for deceit, a liability that she held the power to change in wicked yet effective manipulation. She could not lose him. The small child within her clawed to hold fast to her closest ally, willing to spill blood. What was one more hurt among many? She struck blindly, not knowing how deep this particular lie would cut, eyes locked with Harry's as she spoke.

The Son of Jafar.

When the blade fell though, a mortal wound was dealt, good humor at the lamenting of some whore suddenly put into personal perspective. Harry's expression went from open and amused to blank, colour lost from his face as the world shifted on its axis. Uma's words had always been law, why would these differ in the mind of her First Mate so these falsehoods became writ in stone, backed up by endless memories of Jay emptying his stomach contents or limping in an alley with mouth and pants mussed. Gorgeous Jay who mocked the pervert customers who wanted some fantasy and was disgusted by the touch of men. 

Who would he have to complain about at the moment so vocally to Uma of all people? He had said himself that it had been some time since someone had taken their pleasure on him. So his derision fell to the most recent fuck, Jay's mockery had been for the soft kisses and tender heat they had shared days before, the perverted touch he shuddered to recall.

Harry's touch.

The Pirate left Uma then, missing the smug look of satisfaction on her dark complexion as he stumbled down the walkway off the ship and out to quieter, treacherous pathways. He felt suffocated, his heart hammering in his chest and bile stinging his throat as he was forced to dry heave into the dirt of the road. His own demons crawling from the cesspit of repressed memory to fill him with the terror of a heavy body on his, the stench of rotted teeth breathing on his back as an odious predator whispered about Pan and the Lost Boys, strong hand squeezing down on his windpipe to stop the hoarse cries of a child. The mental anguish of betrayal and the screams for an absent father falling unanswered into the dirt. He had taken from Jay his escape, pressed into his body with the same desperation as Avery and his ilk. Another odious creature following the footsteps of those before him, unable to escape the vicious cycle of abuse and abuser no matter the deluded reality he lived in. 

Instead of soothing cracks he had sunk his hook into revered flesh and carved them anew. 

Rejection had never hurt quite like this, shame curdling the rotten fish in his gut until he was hollow, leaving all the rot on the ground at his feet. He was just another salivating hog enraptured by the beautiful boy, falling for charms so the greatest thief on the Isle could steal whatever he liked. What Harry had taken as coyness had been indifference. It would not be the first time that a fool had taken Jay's attention for more than it was, giving him an opening to take them for all their worth. The Son of Jafar had been presented with the ideal opening into the upper tier of an enemy gang and taken it as any self-serving villain would. Mal's tactics were endlessly creative, their close knit group surely laughed at the way Harry Hook stumbled all over himself to get into bed with the long-haired siren. This was a slow burn plan, getting to Uma by proxy, surely learning the layout of their turf from within by bedding her main enforcer into complacency. They'd find out eventually what plan had been enacted under their noses, some upper hand yet to be revealed. Maybe he had fucked Uma just to prove to Harry that he could, that he had her ear and could tell all manner of secrets to her that Hook had kept buried where only Jay had seen.

Tears had dried up a decade before and so all that Harry Hook had was anger coursing through his veins, the admiration that had consumed him in divine light giving way to hatred with each wrenching pump of a broken heart. Every moment of worship whispered into the Arabian's skin, every moaned name that left Jay's lips, every soft touch turned over and examined in a new light. He hurt all over, shreds of happiness pried from him like pliers to aching tooth, whatever fledgling good that had simmered in his soul boiling over. 

The radiant sun that had bathed him in sweet gentleness turned to harsh, barbs of heat that eviscerated him until nothing remained but the animal, hurt and desperate and out for blood.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the best night someone took the bait and he could burn a few merciless minutes taking out his emotions with his hook. On the worst night he ran in to Jay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the Rough updated and I'm screaming.

It was infuriating how life had the audacity to just continue when one’s world ended. 

The sun rose, the day began, people went about their daily business unaware of the pain that had shattered Harry’s world and left him fractured and broken. It had been easy to understand in the backlash of their break-up, anger turning to violence and that in turn becoming lasting physical injury. Hits that had never been pulled but were no longer about triumph and winning, taunting as they used to be, now meant to maim to the best of their ability. As two ex-whatevers went, they were singularly qualified to beat each other bloody. 

Broken nose, cracked ribs, torn knuckles were all real, tangible sources for pain. They were badges to be worn, an unspoken explanation for the sour mood that Harry had fallen into, stalking about with a rabid ferocity that sent most scurrying from the wake of his rage. He was a beast licking his wounds and getting his kicks at the expense of any who crossed him, most did not bother to dwell on the reason as Harry Hook did not often need a reason to do what he did best: terrorize.

Much to the Son of Hook’s horror though, as exterior injury healed the pain did not recede. It simply evolved from sharp stab to festering ache, settling deep within the pirate’s bones. Days crawled by and the wound in his chest remained despite the constant plying of liquor to numb it. It was stubbornly content to sit heavy against his ribs and bleed into his every waking thought. In the drunken stupor of night he would claw at his skin, nails dragging across muscle and feeling the racing, stuttering pulse pumping blood through his body. He imagined he could rip his rib cage open with gleaming hook and dig the heart from its cavity, throwing it to the sharks where he would be tainted by no longer. While he held only ill-will to Captain Hook and his cronies, he could sympathize with how the fear of being old, alone, and done for had poisoned his father and drove him to exhausting lengths to rid himself of the personification of youth.

For now, Harry would fall to his age old method of internal conflict resolution, lying until it became truth. This worked grandly in everyday life once he took an active interest in ignoring his emotions, filling his time with all manner of tasks and demanding an aggressive encroachment on other smaller gang territories, to keep him busy and thus unable to pause and reflect. 

Whether intentionally or not, the Son of Jafar had steered clear of Uma’s turf since things had come to a head. This would be a positive to Harry if it had not also been quiet from Mal's side entirely. Uma was making it clear that she expected whatever retaliation to come on swift wind and for the Crew to remain vigilant. The First mate was wary as he expected to see the fruits of Jay's manipulation in the near future. The best thief in the Isle was so adept that one almost did not catch what was taken until ages after when looking for it where it was last tucked away to find only dust. Harry feared what he had overlooked in the years he had been under Jay's thumb.

With the unknown threat looming, Uma was thrilled with the renewed vigor in which Harry sought to acquire power. This positive support of his Captain was really all he needed to run wild with it and it returned some semblance of purpose back to the Pirate who had otherwise been adrift. His days were awash with opportunity to prove the strength and violence that the wild-eyed Pirate was known for, stretching Uma's hold further than it had ever reached before.

It did not stop the dreams though. They plagued his teen, hormone-addled brain, alcohol not enough to stop the buzzing heat of want from directing his body towards the unobtainable. He had desired Jay for so long that it was muscle memory recalling the slopes and planes of the other boy’s body vividly. Whilst the tattoo paid subtle homage to the Arabian, Harry's very skeleton was etched with the boy's name, ribs and jaw and fingers stained as permanently as his skin. It drove him up a wall, riled with no release and no interest in any of the willing bodies who might offer themselves should he make it known he was on the hunt. All tasted stale in comparison to the heady salt and saliva of the Arabian and his hand alone could not placate for long. Especially when release only brought with it another dark spike of anger and self-hatred, lamenting on the perverse parallels to himself and his father's crew and how foolish he had been to fall for the seductions of the thief. In the arena of self hatred that Harry competed in, he was both predator and besotted fool. 

Truth bobbed closer to the surface when night fell, no longer weighed down by lies perpetuated for the daily audience of peers. The hard liquor had begun to stretch each dream more vividly into realism while curdling each morning with sourness so he refrained as the weeks turned to a month, the cost of it out weighing the benefits. Sleepless in the night without the lullaby of drink, Harry took to meandering, an open invitation to any ambitious fool to attack him. On the best night someone took the bait and he could burn a few merciless minutes taking out his emotions with his hook. 

On the worst night he ran in to Jay. 

Not as if it was so sudden, Harry had rounded a corner on a shady block well outside his usual territory to see the bronze skinned thief loitering at a corner, hips canted and vest undone in that effortlessly seductive way of a practiced seducer. In a baffling exercise in self-flagellation, Harry stopped and simply watched. He knew in the way that he knew so much about Jay through slow compilation of facts shared in quiet conversation over many years that the day the barge came was nearing, that the weight of a cruel father's demands were pressed tight to the son's neck. That the Son of Jafar was out selling himself to buy a roof over his head and a moment of peace without threat of physical abuse.

At first Harry thought he would just watch until Jay found a John to take to some dark alcove, to reaffirm that the teen was what Harry had called him over and over. The longer he looked though the more the hunger growled in his gut, thoughts lapping in his head against the solid wall of reasons not to approach and slowly eroding them until all the excuses washed over any barrier of common sense. Harry had always been one who acted on a whim and now was no different, the base impulse within him wanted the Arabian despite the knowledge he had been burdened with and that combined with spiteful fury fuelled his steps. 

Why try to be good when it was an impossible feat? Momentary release was the only happiness he could ever hope to achieve on the Isle, if he had ever thought differently it had been from a place of naivete and delusion. Wishes were for Auradon heroes, villains took what they could get. If it was not him taking what Jay was offering it would be someone else and if Harry knew anything with certainty, it was that the adults on the Isle sought to get their money's worth in flesh. 

He held no fear of rejection as he came armed with coin, secure in the one actual truth Jay could not have fabricated at so young an age. That those with with gold made the rules. The pirate missed any shred of hope in the Arabian's eye for he looked upon him without really seeing, blinded by the chasm of lies that had torn them from each other's embrace. Harry sat on a throne of dishonesty, vindicated in the knowledge he held as fact. That throne would one day crumble and leave him marooned on an island of trash, much like the Isle. In that moment though the conviction was ironclad, bitterly believing that he finally had the upper hand over Jay. Jay who had preached sincerity yet practiced disgust. Jay who had kissed him like he wanted to steal the air from Harry’s lips. Jay that had laid in his bed and made him feel things he never could name. 

Jay, Son of Jafar, who had fucked Uma.

In the warm glow of a distant lamp, the two exchanged words. When before a greeting had been bathed in playful taunt and warm heat on reverent lips, now iced over. Harry had thrown himself into the inferno of his anger and in the aftermath of immolation existed solely as dying coals smothered by cold ash. His light eyes were flinty and words terse, devoid of even the theatrics he fell back on in times of conflict.

It was fast and cruelly honest, no endearments from false lips just the slap of skin and the bite of pant zipper against the cleft of a perfect ass. Harsh, selfish, a desperate search for release and relief. Harry came and went with few words, bile in his throat once more as the internal disgust returned and memories of his own childhood chased him back to the ship. 

Somehow though, nightmares were better than dreaming of golden lips.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skipped ahead a bit, so these are a little out of order! Harry taking on the Cave of Wonders for a ring worthy of the prince of his heart. Also dialogue with accent inflections is hard, thank you DarkerThanDisney (Kairyn) for the tips and the inspiration.

Usually crowds meant increased risk of pickpockets and brawls, with every Isle resident a wound tight spring ready to be unleashed into the nearest violent altercation. In Auradon though, the plump cherubs and pretty, pretty princesses had not an ill-bone in their bodies and so the loud interior should have been playful enough to loosen up even the most paranoid. Gil certainly had taken to the atmosphere, the bright lights playing across a content face as he filled his stomach with the newest art form in indulgent junk food: the chili dog while Reza looked on in played up horror and concealed envy. 

Harry Hook was needlessly tense though as he leaned against one of the brightly lit games in the arcade that the quad of Isle kids found themselves in, watching Uma cackle with glee as she threw spells at a dragon in spiteful satisfaction. He heard the occasional mutter of “Call me Shrimpy, now” and “Eat this, Mal.” which would have normally spurred him to chime in with his own artful insults flung at the animated dragon if not for the current dilemma that was occupying his mind.

With the newest wave of Isle kids shepherding the way for more and more, Auradon Prep had put out a tooth-rotting Remedial Goodness textbook to be read as supplemental to Fairy Godmother’s mind numbing classes. It was aggressively preachy and could do with a rewrite that took into account the Isle perspective when explaining some of the more selfless golden rules. Wrapping his head around the concept of a ‘Greater Good’ and that his every action has potential repercussions even if he didn’t care about the person or was stronger was something which hadn’t fully sunk in yet. Selfishness was a necessity on the Isle and though Harry could see the feral gleam had softened in the eyes of his crewmates, pretending to acclimate was an art form. 

So he read the damn book and found in it a simpering, sticky sweet passage about magic and mundane objects that were for benevolent purposes. Promise rings and their conceptual purpose had only been briefly mentioned as a segway into virtuous courtship and happily ever afters but the idea had struck a chord with the pirate. 

Since they’d been permitted to stay from the mercy of King Ben, Harry had been brainstorming ways to mend the rift between him and the Son of Jafar with little to no results. He’d said his piece, explained to Jay the events that led to his actions, the reasons he thought himself delusionally justified in the things he’d done to hurt the other boy. He’d apologized, a thing he should have done the moment he’d discovered Uma’s deceptions, but words would never be enough, not after all the bad blood spilt between them since those sun soaked days of past. 

Harry would have to change for the better so that he may one day be deemed worthy.

This was not a task to be taken lightly, it meant the rabid, straining at a tight-leash, wild dog would need to take the leash into his own hands. He had been content letting Uma call the shots, leaving her to determine when enough was enough and when they’d had to back down. There was comfort in knowing his actions had been at the behest and responsibility of another and as long as he was not called to heel he could continue in whatever which way he preferred. To obtain redemption he would have to become master. To obtain a life worth having he would have to travel his own way and it was a path growing clearer by the day.

On the Isle, one did not think towards the future in concrete goals but now, when laying in a soft bed with a full stomach, Harry saw the life he wanted. It filled him with mercurial, hard to define feelings like hope that weathered at his edges and seeped into his cracks, overflowing the pit of rage inside of him to replace with bittersweet hope.

A promise ring was a statement to Jay of all that he wished to be and all he would become so that the Arabian would let him stand at his shoulder and assert to the world that they belonged to each other. 

Outside of the pirate’s head, Uma had obtained the attention of some poor unfortunate soul and Gil, more interested in exploring the arcade than watching the Siren throw out her hooks had wandered off. Reza was content to observe the machinations at hand but Harry, ever the protective older brother type, followed the perpetually happy boy like a shadow, letting Gil chomp at chili dogs and play Carriage Crash while he brooded internally.

The dilemma to be solved was in obtaining a ring through virtuous means. 

Things were expensive on Auradon and no one was very forthcoming about hiring an Isle kid to do work, especially one whose inherent charm was more menace than meek. There was also the matter of pride, he and Uma had been on top of their own turf and were feared or admired by most who came upon them. Waiting tables for spoiled princesses would just make Hook want to spit in their food and his other skills…..well there wasn’t really a market for them. 

Sure, Mal had paved the way in the spells for money racket and Uma’s talents were raking in enough to keep them comfortable and able to wile away a few hours in arcades or the like with her own magic but that was a far cry from jewelry money. Some silly princelings had invited him to a poker game a month ago and he’d cashed out so hard he hadn’t been invited back which he regretted once he realized he could have milked that for ages. It was too easy though, Auradon types could not bluff for shit. Surely there was another viable option though, he would just need to put his mind to it.

As if by magical intervention the solution was presented to the pirate, a game at the end of a long aisle of games that sat unassuming but welcoming to all who approached it, piled high with prizes to be won and touting mystical treasure as its bounty. The Agrabah style design of the exterior had caught Harry’s eye, as did most things which reminded him of Jay, and he blindly grabbed Son of Gaston’s collar to drag the boy with him for further investigation. 

Like a kid peering into the window of a candy store, Harry loomed close, free hand smacking against the front and nose practically smashed to the glass as he surveyed the interior goods. A trill of delight left his lips, mouth contorting into a truly demented smile usually reserved for the heat of battle and ploys of intimidation. Nestled amidst the chaos of prize boxes was a fluid, snake-like silver band with a red stone, beautiful and elegant like Jay himself. 

“Thah’ll do nicely, no?” 

The question was directed to no one in particular but Gil giddily nodded agreement just the same. Releasing Gil of the grip on his shirt and bending down to inspect the mechanics of the lion's paw and joystick mechanisms, Harry hummed, having never found himself faced with the challenges of a Treasure Cabinet before. The first tokens spent were for mere experimentation to see how the game worked, the next handful wasted in quick succession. The game burned through Harry’s coins almost as fast as his patience, jerky claw movements serving to just stir up the contents within and get him further from his prize. 

“If yer cheatin’ me, ah’ll murder yah.” He hissed, having resorted to threatening inanimate objects who came between him and his goals. His grip on the joystick was white knuckled, as if the pressure would cause harm to befall the plastic and metal now facing his wrath. Gil, patting his stomach contentedly, was now taking an interest in the game.

“Shove it closer to the hole, Harry.” He advised helpfully, holding out another coin for the fuming pirate to try again and smashing his smiling face against the side to watch the action close up. Harry acknowledged he heard the other boy with a smirk, Gil’s phrasing more than a little suggestive and working wonders to lighten his mood. The tension dissolved from Hook’s shoulders and he refocused, attempting the new tactic and nodding approval when the swipe of the claw nudged the box closer to the prize chute. Three tries later and it was near the edge, close enough that an attempt to hook it made the box tip and teeter as if it would fall before it settled once more. 

Harry smacked a fist on the glass, briefly considering trying to reach in and try to grab it with his hand. No, he couldn’t, he decided. Cheating made things much easier but if he was to do things right this needed to be above board from the beginning, starting with this. 

It paid off soon enough, the cumbersome paw pushing the box over the edge to clatter and clunk down the chute. The pirate knelt on the horrendously patterned carpet, ripping open the container to cradle the prize in his gloved hands, holding the coveted ring in triumph. His grin was radiant and Gil shared in the celebration, pulling Harry back to his feet to slam chests together and cause a mild ruckus in their corner of flashing lights and mixing game music tracks. Hope bloomed eternal in his chest, coloring his cheeks rosy as he felt the ring bite into his hand with how hard and excitedly he gripped it.

“So here’s where you two ran off to.” 

Harry welcomed Uma as she sauntered close by roping her into the hug, pocketing the ring so as to avoid her questions and diverting attention to her with a question on how she’d escaped the persistent admirer. She relayed her smug story, having charmed a drink and a few rousing games from the flirtatious teen who’d been caught in her net, improved by Reza’s sardonic opinions on what he had observed. Conversation returned to the normal catty observations and plans on how best to get their crew’s names on the list without going through Mal. 

All the while though, Harry kept a hand in his pocket, thumb brushing over the smooth touch gloss of polished stone and metal, the smile unable to fade from his face. Silently, he willed it to absorb every sentiment and feeling of love he could muster in his stocky frame, asking for it to be imbued with magic and luck, someday allowing him to be tied eternally to the Son of Jafar.

**Author's Note:**

> If you also want to yell about how great Son of Jafar is, please comment. : )


End file.
